


Like Petals From a Rose

by Bittercape (bittercape)



Series: Battlefield [1]
Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Battle, Blood and Gore, F/M, Implied Relationships, Implied background relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:40:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22942675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittercape/pseuds/Bittercape
Summary: Battle is not what Hamid expected.
Relationships: Azu/Hamid Saleh Haroun al-Tahan
Series: Battlefield [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1866826
Comments: 9
Kudos: 38





	Like Petals From a Rose

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Naissance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naissance/gifts).



The battlefield is not what Hamid had imagined it would be, long ago, in London, when he had wanted to be a hero. When he thought that being a mercenary was a quick way to gain glory and fame, and that his father would be proud of a son who was brave and strong, and had won battles. Those ideas seem nearly childish now, when he is on his knees in the mud, blood and gore up to his elbow where he had held Wilde’s open belly together with his hands for long, slow minutes until Zolf had reached them with healing spells, face deadly pale, whiter than Wilde’s, lips pinched together in a tense, bloodless line. There is no glory here. Only pain and misery and enemy pawns that are no longer people. 

Hamid spares a few moments to catch his breath, and to prestidigitate Wilde’s blood and fluids off his skin and his clothes. Wilde’s fine now, standing back to back with Zolf, casting spells and firing crossbow bolts in quick succession. Hamid can hear him bark a quick, harsh laugh at one of Zolf’s salty comments, and almost manages a smile through his tiredness, his sadness, his absolute doneness with everything even similar to fighting. He thinks he’ll just stay here for a few minutes, on his knees in the mud, thinking about all the people he has lost.

Aziza. His father, even though he’s still living, is not the man he looked up to in his youth, Maybe he never was. Maybe Hamid is the one who has changed. Maybe Grizzop’s words held more weight to him than he knew. Gizzop, lost to Rome. Sasha, gone with him. Ishak and Ismail, their bond torn apart, just because of him. Even Bertie. Hamid sighs, deeply, and looks down at his hands. What is the point, really, in saving the world?

It’s like his hands senses what happens quicker than his brain, and he watches the claws form and the scales come out in a numb sort of dizziness before he registers what he’s heard. A deep and rumbling roar, of rage and pain, like nothing he’s ever heard before. Still, he knows who it is. It feels like the world has stopped, like he’s moving through thick honey, the snap of his head turning quicker than anything he’s ever done, and yet, to him, every fraction of movement takes forever as he turns, spins in place, fastens his gaze on the towering, muscular form dressed entirely in pink, shining, glowing, radiant --

The arc of the man’s sword is not yet complete, the downwards swing having caught Azu’s arm right above the elbow, but the blow is powerful enough to slice through the bone and get stuck in the elbow joint. Before the man can do anything else though, Azu’s massive fist has struck him right in the face, the pain seemingly making her impossibly strong, her fist keeps moving, lifting the man off his feet, crunching bone and cartilage, going into his face, blood spurting out in a spray of brilliant red.

Hamid doesn’t recognise his own voice as he roars his outrage at the man daring to get in a strike on Azu. She’s too bright, too brilliant, too sweet and caring to have anyone cutting into her flesh like that. She’s too strong to be taken down by a man who is no longer even himself. As the man falls backwards, no longer having anything that could be called a face, Azu stumbles forward after him. 

Hamid’s own voice sounds distorted, his movements at full speed so

very 

slow

watching as the dead man’s grip remains locked onto his sword, giving Azu’s arm a brutal jerk as he lands, hard, in the mud. 

Azu wobbles slightly, loses her balance. Falls to one knee. Stays locked to her fallen enemy through his grip his sword embedded in her bone her blood falling in big heavy droplets like rose petals like something beautiful like something not belonging in this dirty awful place like

like

Suddenly she seems smaller, somehow. He’s at eye height, then taller, then above her, the pain in his back a distant thing, disconnected, as he sees another three blue-veined things closing in on her, _her_ , still stuck to the dead thing in the mud, the rage swelling up in a hot, familiar way as he breathes out a long, graceful curve of fiery death, incinerating them all instantly, burning them away from the face of the earth and drifting off in insignificant pieces of ash and despair before he descends and wraps his wing around her, protectively.

Wait.

Wing?

As he comes back to himself gradually, the sounds of battle have faded, and he can hear Carter whooping in the distance, Cel’s happy-relieved cackle and the clang-ringle of Zolf’s plate armour bumping gently against Wilde’s light chainmail. Closer and more immediate is Azu’s uneven breathing, wheezing and hiccuping, bordering on sobs. She’s alive, for now.

**Author's Note:**

> Dear Naissance, this was entirely inspired by your unique, amazing art and your wonderful crimes. It's been a long time coming, but I hope it's what you were looking for. 
> 
> To Babs, I'm sorry.
> 
> Title from Emily Dickinson's poem.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Like Petals From a Rose [podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24259687) by [KD reads (KDHeart)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KDHeart/pseuds/KD%20reads)




End file.
